Write Me Home
by fuzzyalarmclock
Summary: Takes place after Partings. Rory gets news from Stars Hollow and writes a letter home. Letter writing inspired by Everything Old Is New Again. (Which if you haven't read, you should read.)


Rory liked the campaign trail. She loved the bunting and babies and barbecues. Loved the brisk pace, the bustle, and the banter of her fellow reporters, but even with the constant activity and the blur of small town America all around her, the campaign trail felt lonely.

While the banter of her fellow press corpsmen and women was mostly friendly and innocuous, especially when aimed towards her, calling her a newbie, a baby, or similar terms, but she also heard it turn ugly, when aimed at others. Barbs, instead of banter, especially if a competitor got a better sidebar out of an event than you or if someone scored a top interview.

She missed the camaraderie of a newsroom where you were all on the same side. No matter newsroom politics or disagreements, you all came together to get the paper out every day. Here, it was fighting for tooth and nail for every story, knowing if someone outshone you, you might get bumped to a lesser candidate's campaign or worse, off the campaign trail all together.

She didn't have anyone to trust, didn't know who to turn to yet, so she was fumbling on her own, which most of the time, didn't feel good enough. The days were long and the hours irregular, so she stole whatever moments she could to call her mother. Even thousands of miles away, her mother made her feel less alone, but sometimes, in the same moments, made her even more homesick. For weeks, she heard about her mother's reignited relationship with Luke, Rory begging for details of their dates and hearing about their stumbles and re-starts.

Not long into the summer, Lorelai called with news that Luke was moving in to the house. Rory was thrilled, of course, and had demanded to talk to Luke, who she could hear grousing in the background as her mother told the story.

The hours on the bus in between stops were usually relatively quiet. People worked on story ideas, napped, or read. In the days since hearing her mother's news, she's had plenty of time to consider the evolution of Luke in both of their lives.

Even though they didn't start going to the diner on a regular basis until she was older, but once they moved into the Crap Shack, she remembers Luke always sort of being around. Every Halloween, the businesses in the town square stayed open late for trick or treaters. She was seven, perfectly costumed as Dorothy from _The Wizard of Oz_ , thanks to her mother. She remembers running, then tripping and falling right in front of the diner, scraping her knee. Luke, of course, wasn't open for trick or treaters, but he must have been inside cleaning up, because he came rushing out, asking both of them if she was okay. He said he had a first aid kit in the back and ushered them inside. Lorelai lifted her to sit on the counter, brushing her hair away from her face, wiping away her tears. Luke returned with the first aid kit, offering band-aids and a wet washcloth to Lorelai so she could clean the wound. As they left the diner, her scrap covered, her pride only a little damaged, she looked back at Luke, who held up his hand in a goodbye. She waved back.

She thought about coffee cake and balloons on her birthday and Luke showing up to her parties, celebrations, and graduations. His pride when she got into Harvard, Princeton, and Yale. His threats to beat up any boy who wronged her and his ever steady stream of food and coffee for both she and her mom. Besides her mother and her grandparents, Luke was the most constant stream of support. She admired how he loved her and her mother, in his quiet, steady way.

It's past midnight when she finally checks into her hotel room. She flops down onto the bed, expecting exhaustion to kick in, but she feels oddly awake. She props herself up on an elbow, reaching for the hotel stationary and pen next to the bed.

Rory rolls onto her stomach and twirls the pen between her fingers, before lowering her head closer to the paper and beginning to write.

 _Luke,_

 _I've never said how much I'm glad it's you. It was true before and it's true, possibly even more so, now. Congratulations and I can't wait to come home to see you both. I'm so glad it's your home now, too. It should be, after the years of work you put into the beloved Crap Shack._

 _Even though the campaign trail is hectic, there's oddly, a lot of time to think. Today I was remembering how long you've been a part of our lives. It kind of drives me crazy, thinking about it now, that I couldn't see it earlier, how much you and my mom belonged together. (It's also possible I've read too many books with grand, sweeping love stories.)_

 _You're family to me. You watched me grow up. You were there when I needed it, when my own father chose not to be, and I've never told you how grateful I am for that. Maybe that's why this whole thing with my mom makes so much sense, because in many ways, you are already my dad. And knowing you both as I do, being privileged enough to receive advice from both of you, I see how much your visions of the world match and complement each other._

 _I'm not sure any of this makes sense, but I wanted to say it, in one way or another. Thank you for the endless supply of coffee and pie, the coffee cake and birthday balloons, the band-aids for scraped knees, and for the constant support, pride, and understanding. I'm so happy to have you in my life and now, in my mom's life in such a special way._

 _I can't wait to embarrass you with all of this mushy stuff in person._

 _Love,_

 _Rory_


End file.
